The Forgotten (23 page)

“What about the Preservers of Ethnic Identity?” Webster asked.

“I don’t know who’s funding them.”

Rina asked, “How many people log on to this kind of Web site?”

“This one in particular…” Kate punched up some keys. “It’s got about seventy hits a day. Some of the users have cookies—identifiable pixels—that act as a computer trail. We can find out where they go from here, what other sites they have visited. A lot of them have traceable pixels, so we can tell the point of origin for their messages.”

“The exact residence?” Webster asked.

“No, but the city oftentimes. The Internet is a sneaky thing. It professes privacy, but in reality it leaves a large electronic trail. You just have to know where to look for it.”

“So you keep tabs on the people who’ve hit these Web sites?”

“We can’t possibly keep tabs on all of them, but if a name pops up a certain number of times on different sites, we’ll start a file on him or on her. I can’t get over the sophistication of these graphics.”

“Ever hear of a guy named Ricky Moke?” Webster asked.

“Ricky Moke,” Kate said. “No. Who is he?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Webster said. “His name showed up on the FBI list for computer hacking. When the synagogue was vandalized six months ago, I interviewed Darrell Holt at PEI. His assistant, a kid named Erin Kershan, mentioned him to us. But no one seems to know who he is.”

“I’ll look him up.”

“What about Darrell Holt?”

“He’s been around for a while,” Kate said.

“Somebody told me he’s been with PEI for about four years. Does that sound right?”

“Yes, it does.”

“So Darrell came right when PEI started to clean its image,” Rina commented. “Maybe he was behind the sanitation effort.”

“That sounds logical,” Kate said. “Darrell comes down with a college education—UC Santa Cruz—”

“I thought it was Berkeley,” Webster said.

“Maybe it was Berkeley. He was a radical turned conservative—which isn’t at all unusual for these guys. Tom Metzger was a communist before he became a Nazi. I’ll plug Holt into the computer later. Right now, let’s see what PEI is up to. Okay, okay, here’s their pitch. They’re now railing against the New World Order—”

“Which is?” Webster asked.

“Anything that espouses cooperation and peace between countries,” Kate said. “When Bush senior was president, he often made mention of a New World Order. That fed these crackpots’ paranoia of government conspiracies. They began to profess anarchy like blowing up government buildings. Willis Carto, who lives in So-Cal, out in Escondido, publishes a newspaper called
The Spotlight
—one of the oldest anti-Semitic machines. Now it’s almost exclusively anti-NWO. Maybe PEI is some sort of outcropping from Escondido. Maybe that’s where they’re getting their funding for the fancy graphics.”

“If Ricky Moke exists,” Rina said, “and if he’s a computer person who’s also aligned with PEI—maybe he’s doing the graphics gratis.”

Webster liked that idea and told her so. He looked over Kate’s shoulder as she scrolled down the site. She said, “No, PEI can’t be aligned with TWCOC. They’re anti–Third Position.”

Rina said, “The Third Position states that nationality is irrelevant as long as you’re white.”

“You’re white,” Webster told Rina. “Could you join?”

Kate broke in. “Actually, she could because The Third Position doesn’t believe that white Jews are really Jewish. So if she dropped her identity as a Jew and preached white supremacy, they’d probably take her in.”

Webster said, “You know that Darrell Holt is kinda black.”

Kate raised her head from the screen and thought a moment. “How can you be kinda black? That’s like being kinda pregnant.”

“He looks biracial or multi-racial,” Webster said. “You’ve never seen him?”

“Just pictures. He’s claims he’s Cajun. To me, he looks typical Na’leans.”

“Actually, he claims he’s Acadian from Canada—Nova Scotia. Which I’m thinking might be true, because Nova Scotia Acadians have black descendants.”

“Then it would make sense that he’d been anti–Third Position,” Rina said.

“So now we got a guy who’s a segregationist and a racist, but not a white supremacist because he’s got black blood in him,” Webster said. “So why didn’t he align himself with a group like Nation of Islam?”

“Maybe he tried to do that up at Berkeley, and he wasn’t black enough,” Rina said.

Webster smiled. “Wouldn’t that be a hoot? Someone wanting to be a racist, but too much of a mix to fit in with any of the groups.”

“So he starts his own group,” Rina said.

“No, PEI was started longer than four years ago,” Kate said.

“But it changed images four years ago,” Webster reminded her.

“You said it yourself, Kate,” Rina said. “Holt made several transformations.”

“Why don’t you look Holt up?” Webster suggested.

“First let me shut this down…” She exited the official PEI site and plugged in Darrell Holt as a keyword. “He has his own Web site…linked to PEI.”

Webster said, “Who started PEI?”

“I believe that it was originally a splinter group from the Methods of Mad White Boys—one of Garvey McKenna’s survivalist militia groups up in the Idaho area.”

“Survivalist militia group,” Webster repeated. “Is the man from military stock?”

“I believe so. Marines if I’m recalling correctly.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Webster said. “Does the name Hank Tarpin ring a bell?”

“Not until thirty seconds ago,” Kate answered. “Holt’s Web site is linked to Tarpin.”

Decker said, “If
Tarpin murdered the Baldwins because of his racist beliefs, why did he wait so long?”

“He needed help,” Oliver answered. “The Baldwins had a variety of psychos going through their nature camp. Tarpin had to find the right one.”

“So you’re saying it took him, what…eight years to find the right psycho?” Wanda Bontemps was skeptical.

“Tarpin is a patient man,” Oliver answered.

Wanda didn’t dispute him. Scott had seniority, and she didn’t want to piss him off by arguing with his conjectures that nobody else was buying, either. It was almost two in the afternoon, and Decker’s office was as stuffy as a gym sock. The desk fan had been turned up to the max, but it wasn’t cooling much. It
was
blowing papers all over the place. Decker had run out of coffee mugs to use as weights for his paper piles. The group was fanning itself with flyers of the police Fourth of July picnic at Rodgers Park. Have a safe and sane Fourth and enjoy the city fireworks. The loo was waiting for the pathology reports, waiting for the ballistic reports. Maybe Forensics would point to a killer.

Marge said, “Pardon my ignorance, but aren’t the Baldwins, being therapists, supposed to be savvy when it comes to reading people? You’re saying that they didn’t have an inkling that Tarpin was out to get them?”

“They were arrogant,” Oliver persisted. “You know, kind of like that Greek thing…pride before the fall.”

“Hubris,”
Marge answered.

“How’d
you
know that?”

Marge stiffened. “First of all, Scott, I’m not a moron. Secondly, Vega’s studying
Oedipus Rex
in school.”

“Tarpin was the first one to find the bodies,” Oliver said. “He was the only one capable enough to pull it off. The kid that Webster talked about…Riley Barns. He thought he saw a couple of shadows.”

Decker said, “Barns was vague. He might have seen shadows; he might have been dreaming.”

“He wasn’t dreaming,” Oliver insisted. “He saw two shadows—Holt and Tarpin. They’re both survivalists; they’re both militia based. They wait until everyone’s asleep, they slip into camouflages, do Baldwin and Ernesto, then slip back into the woods. Tarpin goes back to the boys, Holt does Dee—”

Martinez said, “Scott, it’s just as likely that Dee Baldwin whacked herself in remorse for whacking her husband in a fit of rage after she found him with Ernesto.”

Marge made a face. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“Well, you didn’t see her positioning. Consistent with suicide.”

Webster said, “Tarpin associated with bad news, Bert. Y’all should’ve seen the literature on Garvey McKenna and his militia—the Methods of Mad White Boys.”

“They’re crackpots,” Martinez said.

“That don’t mean they aren’t evil,” Webster retorted.

“So maybe that’s why Tarpin broke away from them,” Martinez suggested.

“Why are you defending a jerk like Tarpin?” Oliver asked Bert.

“I’m not
defending
him,” Martinez said, bristling. “I think it’s odd that Tarpin and Holt—even with their racist views—would twiddle their thumbs for years before murdering the
Baldwins. Especially since he and Holt may have known each other for years.”

“Maybe a money motive was introduced,” Wanda said.

“There’s a thought,” Oliver said. “Someone in PEI paid Tarpin to murder the Baldwins because the Baldwins were liberals, asshole shrinks, and PEI knew that Tarpin could get them easier than anyone else.”

Decker made a face. “I don’t remember hearing that the Baldwins were crusading against PEI or any hate group. They seem like an odd target.”

“Isn’t Ernesto’s father very liberal in his politics?” Wanda asked.

“Aha!” Oliver said triumphantly. “Tarpin got three in one day.”

“Ernesto was murdered, not his dad,” Marge said.

“You want to cripple someone, you attack their children,” Oliver said.

“That’s true.” Decker formulated his thoughts. “But if Tarpin did it, he certainly cast himself in the limelight. There are safer ways to murder someone.”

Martinez said, “Exactly. Why would Tarpin set himself up?”

“Cause he’s a dumb-shit racist,” Oliver said.

“Give me a motive, Scott,” Martinez said, “other than ‘he’s a dumb-shit racist.’”

“That isn’t enough?”

“No, being a dumb racist doesn’t mean you’re a triple murderer,” Martinez said.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not.”

“This is beginning to sound infantile,” Marge said.

Wanda interjected, “Is it possible that one of the camp boys glommed on to Tarpin and took one of his racist ideas to the extreme?”

“Anything’s possible,” Decker said. “I suggest we start with what we know. Plot A—a triple murder. Plot B—double murder, suicide—”

“The killer used a silencer,” Marge said. “If it were an impulsive thing for Dee, she wouldn’t have brought a gun and a silencer.”

Martinez said, “Maybe she suspected her husband years ago and was just building up the courage. The thing is, we don’t know.”

“Bert’s right,” Decker said. “What we do know is that Hank Tarpin is still alive and was up there at the time of the shooting. We know that Hank Tarpin found the bodies. We know that Tarpin—along with Holt—is a member of PEI. We know that Tarpin is a Marine, like Garvey McKenna. We need to talk to Tarpin again.”

Martinez said, “Even though we’ve already interviewed him for four hours without an attorney and couldn’t come up with anything?”

“Try him again,” Decker said. “Come up with a plausible story that won’t send him running for legal cover.”

Marge said, “How about…we suspect that the Baldwins were using pull to get kids into universities, and we want Tarpin’s opinion about it.”

“That isn’t a story, that’s the truth,” Oliver said. “The Baldwins were using muscle to get their kids into the top schools.”

Decker said, “Even better. It’ll make us more believable.”

“Loo, Tarpin isn’t going to know anything about that,” Martinez said. “He’s basically a drill instructor.”

“I’m not so sure,” Decker said. “Maybe some of the kids have talked to him about how they were depending on the Baldwins to get them into universities, and that’s why they agreed to attend the Baldwins’ nature camp. If you have a better ploy, Bert, I’m here to listen.”

Silence.

“Good, so I’m putting Bert and Tom on Tarpin.” Decker wrote down the assignment in his logbook. “Next, we need to get hold of Maryam Estes at the Baldwins’ office.”

“Did the warrant come through?” Marge asked.

“Not yet.” Decker looked up from his notepad, his eyes
jockeying between Marge and Oliver. “But even if you could technically look through every single file, you’d need to narrow it down. So try to get Estes to help you. I want you two to find out if there were any kids or parents who held a grudge against the Baldwins. Any questions?”

There were none.

“We’re on a roll.” Decker regarded Bontemps. “You can call up the Board of Psychological Examiners and find out if there have been any complaints against the Baldwins in the past…oh…how about ten years? Also, check out the Baldwins’ bank accounts, real estate holdings, assets, anything you can get your hands on. See if you can’t get an idea of what they’re worth or if there was big money going in and out. When you’re done with that, check out insurance. What kind did they have, who was the beneficiary, who had something to gain by the Baldwins’ deaths.”

Martinez said, “Someone should find out if the Baldwins had marital problems. It would support a murder/suicide theory.”

Decker said, “Wanda, nose around into their marriage as well. Anything on Ruby Ranger’s whereabouts?”

Wanda said, “I do a round of calls each day. No one up north has spotted the car.”

“So maybe she’s not up there. But keep checking.” He wrote her assignment in the book. “I think we’re all set for the time being. I’m going down to the morgue and see what Pathology has come up with. Ernesto’s body was released an hour ago. The funeral is set at six o’clock and everyone should be there. Whatever happened, even if Ernesto was involved in his own demise, it still was a terrible tragedy for the parents. Anyone have something important to add, talk now.”

Silence ensued.

Decker stood up. “Adios, amigos, and good luck.”

Most of the library’s free floor space had been taken up with boxes and folding chairs from last night’s lecture—a very successful event with over two hundred in attendance accord
ing to Georgia Rackman, the Center’s primary archivist. She was a big woman with thick wrists and ankles and big hair—bleached blond and sprayed stiff. Her face was round, open, and smooth, her brown eyes emphasized by a heavy coat of eyeliner. She spoke with a heavy Texas drawl, and made no excuses when her voice elevated above acceptable volume levels.

“In Dallas,” she exclaimed, “we do everything on a grand scale.”

The library was filled with standard bracket shelving that held thousands of tomes, all of them dedicated to the ashes of war. So many titles…too many memoirs:
The Archives of the Holocaust, The Holocaust and the History of the Rise of Israel, The Jews of Warsaw, The Death Camp Diaries, The Warsaw Uprising, Walking with Ghosts
…But Jews weren’t the only ethnic group represented. There were also sections on the massacres of the Armenians, the bomb drops and subsequent carnage wreaked upon the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the annihilations of the Cambodians under Pol Pot, the civil war between the Hutus and Tutsis in Africa, the bloodbath in the Belgian Congo. It was clear to Rina that no one group could claim its persecution as unique—a very sad commentary on the human condition.

The small library supported one full-time librarian, one full-time archivist, one part-time archivist, and two male exchange students from Austria who satisfied their country’s military obligations by working for the Center for a year.

Georgia sat at her desk in front of her computer and sifted through the black-and-white photographs that Rina had given her. “They don’t tell me much. I don’t even know if they’re authentic. The paper looks too new.”

Rina mulled over the options. “You can do a lot with computers nowadays. Or maybe they’re recently printed but taken from old negatives.”

“Now, there’s a thought.” Georgia looked. “Unfortunately, they don’t tell
me
anything specific. But I’ll show them around. Almost no one survived Treblinka. You know that.”

Rina sat next to her. “I know that.”

“It would help a great deal if you had that piece of paper with the Polish writing. It could be a work permit, it could be a visa, it could be transport papers…it would tell us a lot.”

Rina sighed. “I’m sure if Mr. Golding had had it at the tip of his fingers, he would have given it to us.”

“And he’s not sure if the language is Polish?”

“That’s correct.”

“It makes a difference. Because there were lots of Jews who came through the Warsaw Ghetto, especially at the end—before the city was bombed out of existence. There were Czechs, Estonians, Latvians, Lithuanians, Danes, Swedes…” She held up her hands. “The Nazis were liquidating them as quickly as they could find them. It would really help to have more information.”

“I bet Mr. Golding wishes he had more as well. When I spoke with him this morning, he was in a terrible state. I’m sure he doesn’t remember hardly any of the conversation.” Rina sighed. “Poor, poor man.”

“Why is he bothering with this now? Doesn’t he have more important things to think about?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to think, Georgia. Besides, men deal with pain by being proactive. Females talk.”

“I see you’ve been reading those pop psychology books, eh?”

“No, not at all. I just observe my husband. Whenever he’s nervous, he starts fiddling around the house. Which is really good because Peter is very talented with his hands. All the drippy faucets get fixed when he’s anxious.”

Georgia smiled. “And you’re not even sure if this Yitzchak Golding is alive or dead?”

“No, I’m not,” Rina said. “Ernesto Golding, the murdered boy, had claimed that he had found some information about a Yitzchak Golding who died in Treblinka. All his relatives died there as well. But there could be another Yitzchak Golding and that could have been Mr. Golding’s father. I don’t know, Georgia. That’s why I’m here.”

“From what source did he find that piece of data about Golding dying in Treblinka?”

“I don’t know.”

“Could he have been making it up?”

“Sure.”

“Do you know the year Yitzchak Golding died?”

“No.”

“I’ll start with the Records of American Gathering. If that doesn’t pan out, we’ll go to the Red Cross, the registry at Yad V’shem, the Central Archives, the HIAS…the list is long. Except most of them deal with those who survived to ’45 or beyond. As you well know, Treblinka was liquidated way before that.” Georgia hesitated, then looked down. “Hmmmm.”

“What does that ‘Hmmmm’ mean?”

“If Golding’s father was a Nazi, and if he took on Yitzchak’s name, first off, he would have to have known that Yitzchak Golding was dead. Secondly, to take on his name…Yitzchak Golding would have to have made an impression in his mind. Because remember the camp was leveled by ’43 and the war wasn’t over until ’45. Millions of Jews died after Treblinka was long gone. Golding had to have been on the impersonator’s mind for at least two years. So you know what that says to me?”

“What?”

“That the dead Yitzchak Golding was a force to be reckoned with. I’m thinking that maybe he was involved in some kind of revolt and had made a name as a local hero. Like in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising.”

“But the Jews in the uprising died defending the Ghetto, not in Treblinka.”

“So maybe he was involved in one of the camp’s uprisings. There were several of them, you know.”

“I’m aware of that. I didn’t see the name Golding in any of the accounts.”

“Thousands were involved and died anonymously. He could have been one of the forgotten masses.”

“Not so forgotten,” Rina said. “Someone has his name even if he isn’t a relative.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Georgia glanced at her watch, not because she was in a hurry but because she was tense. “What I tell you stays between us, all right?”